And Then There Was Fiction
by MaskedNicci
Summary: What happens when some of the most famous and infamous fictional characters are placed in a very ominous, very desolate atmosphere together? Constructive Criticism, please.
1. Introduction

I can't imagine what it would be like, to take some of the world's most intricate and problematic characters in modern and classical literature, and place them in a room together. I'm seriously insane, aren't I? But people love me for it. I'm sick and tired of falling in love with fictional characters. Not_ love_, love. But to truly know these people, as though I've always known them. I'm weary of falling in love with them, and seeking a place to _talk_ about these stories I'm enamored with. Because, inevitably, I find 'Those-Who-Cannot-Be-Named'. Why cannot they be named? Because as soon as I publish this, they will be down my throat, barking in their raspy screams, declaring themselves to be the exact opposite as what I see them as. These people(who I will not name) love these characters as much as I do. Or, I think they do. Can you love something you maim and maul to such an extent?

For instance, the Phantom of the Opera, a book by Gaston Leroux. French. A beautiful story, full of intriguing people, problems, and courage. Unrequited love, a masked musical genius. What more could a hopeless romantic want? It's got power, mass, strength, sensitivity. Despite being written by a man whose daily customs would come across as stiff and indifferent in today's expressive society, the very core of the story is brimming with love, and murder, mystery, and tenderness.

Then come Those-Who-Cannot-Be-Named. They seem to adore the story as much as I, and thousands of others. But they love the _idea_ of the Phantom, Erik. They don't love him for who he is; a murderous, ghastly deformed man, who would never notice them, much less 'marry' them, as thousands of fans have claimed. Seriously, this man has never been kissed in half a century, but once he _dies_, he is suddenly married to over a thousand assorted women? Strange, no? The tainted diamond of the story, is the tragedy. Romeo and Juliet wouldn't be so memorable if they lived happily ever after, now would it? We _know_ he was never truly, honestly, happy. That's what makes it so surreal, so awe-striking.

Oh, I'm rambling again, aren't I? I tend to do that. My apologies. I will digress. By now you understand my exasperation at the actions of certain 'phans'. They don't see the ugly, beautiful core of the character of Erik, blinded by the superficial working of their current world. That is why I so strongly insist upon being so open-minded about things. I am known in my household to scream out "Culture, people! It's_culture_!" With ample reason, of course. After all, who, in their right mind, would call Bach 'boring'?

Being blinded by their confusing world surrounding them, these pitiful folk insist upon twisting the characters in fiction, just as they themselves have been twisted by peer pressure, money stress, and stereotypes. Pulling the very basics of a fictional being's persona is a very dangerous, very _popular_ business, indeed.

As I began with saying, the goal of this story is to show _my_ slightly egotistical views on some of my favorite characters, and I promise to_try_ ignoring some of the more popular twisting of their characters in wide-spread fanfiction, etc. I _will_ try.

For the moment, I will include TWO characters from each of my favorite stories. This is not limited merely to books, as not _everyone_ is as avid a reader as I am. (Though I know there are quite a few. Do not fear. I will not forget you. I just need to include everybody.)

If I am to make this story work, I may need some people to cameo in the story. 'Squee-rs' are welcome. If you see somebody listed in the story whom you "OMG! Always wanted to meet!", then you may contact me through private messaging. Please do not be insulted if I do not include you. I am not required to give a reason, and I don't want to feel obligated to. I just will not need to use you. Perhaps, if you are patient, and nice to me, I will attempt to find a place for you in the latter parts of the story. But as I have not clue if I will ever finish this dang thing, I cannot promise such.

Any ideas for characters can be suggested, but not necessarily used. Particularly if I do not read/watch that story. I must keep them in-character, after all.

* * *

**Cast List: **(in no particular order)**  
**

Erik from _Phantom Of The Opera_

Raoul from _Phantom of the Opera_

Jack Sparrow from _Pirates Of The Carribean_

Hector Barbossa from _Pirates Of The Carribean _

Albus Dumbledore from _Harry Potter _

Edmund Pevensie from _The Chronicles Of Narnia_

Susan Pevensie from _The Chronicles Of Narnia _

Legolas Greenleaf from_ The Lord Of The Rings_

Gimli (son of Gloin) from _The Lord Of The Rings _

Morgan Rhea _Original Character, send in by a reader_

Melantha Tolbert _Original Character_

Colin Frisk _ Original Character_

Lawrence Shannon _Original Character _

I don't know if Gimli has a last name, so I'm just going to say his 'son of Gloin' title is suitable for a surname.


	2. We are introduced

It was a chillingly bright morning...

The large mansion stood upon the hill, glaring ominously at the rest of the desolate moor, as though challenging it to swallow the mansion as it had time. Time... it always sweeps us off our feet, and as we struggle to stand again, we are surprised to realize just how much of it has escaped us. Time will never be harnessed, being as a wild stallion upon the plain, trotting gaily through the brooks, whinnying with free delight. I do not wish to harness time. Only its occupants, its servants. Those enslaved to the winding flight of the passing moments, unable to release the hold on reality that is essential to controlling what meager time we do have in life.

How cursed are these occupants of time, unfortunately doomed never to be forgotten! At least, their names will live on, in the hearts and minds of those who loved them so. To be eternally changed, permanently placed in time, as though made of stone among the fleeting wildlife. The mansion stood, rebuking the wind that tore at his open windows, chilling the very bones of those inside.

Only three figures stood within the brick walls of the turn-of-the-century home, built sometime in the 1920's. None of them wished to be there. They had been hired to merely do their job, wait until their employer's guests came and left(at their leisure), and then they were free to leave. All were dressed in black, and stood around the small, useless fire at the hearth, clasping their hands with bowed heads, the picture of solemnity. Two were male, one was female. The eldest man looked to be about in his mid-fifties, his weathered brown face looking as though it would slip away if the wicked wind were to blow through too harshly. His black cap sat limply upon a wrinkled head, not working to conceal the receding hairline.

The more youthful man nearby stood quite elegantly next to the ancient, slightly huddled figure beside him. A playful glint was in his blue eyes, although dimmed by the depressing prospects of the afternoon. He watched the woman beside him, almost eagerly awaiting a reaction from her.

The only female in the room had a glassy expression in her hooded brown eyes, watching the fire with almost ethereal intensity. Wearing black seemed to escalate the contrast of her pale skin against her raven hair, and the dramatically painted lips resembled fresh blood upon the thin line of flesh. The fingernails were also painted, but this time with a charcoal black, the thin fingers twitching sporadically as she watched the licks of heat in the old-fashioned fireplace. The young man kept his eye on her nervously as he kicked at a fallen brick, chipped and black with soot. Both the man watching her, and the woman herself, seemed to be in their late twenties. Perhaps their very early thirties.

After a long time standing silently, the woman turned, her brown eyes boring through the blue-eyed male. "Why on _earth _would somebody live in a place like _this_?" she demanded, with a cool air. The elderly gentleman flickered his eyes in their direction, seemingly occupied with the window overlooking the moor out front.

The young man brightened up immediately, as though the comment fueled him to the very core. "I know! I mean, it's cold, and dark, and...well..._old_." He didn't look in the direction of the older man, who didn't seem to be listening.

Raising a tentative eyebrow, the woman thrust out a white hand, shivering slightly in the cold. "Melantha Tolbert."

Smiling, the blue eyes danced in a light of anticipation. "Colin Frisk, at your service." Melantha rolled her eyes.

Colin shrugged, then turned to the gentleman now standing at the window, transfixed. "And what's your name, pal?"

The man said nothing for a time, slowly and surely turning toward the two. The squinting, wrinkled eyes held their gaze with an otherworldly understanding and calm, sending a chill down Melantha's back. "In the war," he said with ceremonial delay, "They called me Shannon, Laurence."

Colin struggled to hold back a snort, trying to compose himself around the old man. "Isn't...er...isn't Shannon a girl name?"

The elder just watched him, gazing into the boyish blue eyes. "Shannon is my last name. You may call me Mr. Shannon, or Laurence, if you wish. Though I would much prefer you calling me _Sir_." The man slowly flexed his worn, wrinkled right hand, then straightened the depressing black jacket, striding toward the door. Quietly, he stated, "The guests are arriving, now. Girl, go check the fires in the living room, the parlor, and all the bedrooms. Boy, come with me."

The command was cool and collected, as though practice thoroughly many times before. The two younger shared a look of stilled rebuke, wondering where this man had received authority over them. Sighing, Melantha started up the large, decorative staircase, while Colin strode toward the main hall after the man.

Out on the cobblestone walk, a man stood, erect with the posture that suggested all the formality of a gentleman of old times. He wore a black trench-coat that flapped around him in the dangerously violent winds of the moor. The man wore a wide-brimmed hat, which was pulled forward, concealing his face. Leaving his sleek black Rolls-Royce, he walked up to the front door with a brisk and impatient step, his shadowed eyes locked on the ground in front of him, his mind occupied on other matters. Raising a gloved hand to make good, firm use of the iron knocker, he was slightly surprised to have it open before him, and an old, leathery man stood smiling.

Beckoning him in, he was led to the parlor, where he was told to make himself comfortable. After being seated, the man seemed anxious, and restless, asking for a small glass of Burgundy while he awaited his companions. He refused to allow his coat to be removed, or his hat, which Colin found rude, but his older, wiser companion seemed untouched, looking as gaily at the guest as he had since his arrival.

After exciting the hall, Laurence turned to Colin. "Greet the next guest, and make it snappy! They're arriving soon!"

Next to arrive was a group of three or four people. It was hard to tell, they were all pressed tightly together on the doorstep, the one in front using the knocker with impatience. When Colin opened the door, all of them toppled inside, shoving the others in a hurried attempt to find shelter from the infernal wind.

"Woah, Susan! Look at that old man! He looks ancient!" A young boy, no older than thirteen, certainly, was pointing a rather rude finger at Laurence, who frowned at the child.

"Who might you be, lad?" He asked, bending down to meet the eyes of the fair-faced boy.

"M'name's Edmund. Edmund Pevensie." The boy said stubbornly, crossing his arms in a defiant gesture. A flicker of a smile crossed Laurence's features, and he turned to the slightly older girl behind Edmund, gripping his arm.

"Then you must be his elder sister, Susan, am I not right?" He asked. The brown-haired teen nodded her head, and pressed her brother onward into the parlor, along with the first guest.

A man stood in the doorway, wearing ridiculous attire. By the looks of his over-large T-shirt, and moth-eaten jeans, along with the grimy hands and face, this man had rummaged in a garbage can for his attire. Wrinkling his nose slightly, Colin greeted him, trying to smile. The effort came out looking like a smirk, which the newcomer genuinely reciprocated.

"Jack." Said the man, grinning broadly, and shaking Colin's hand with his dirty fingers. "Jack Sparrow. Would you be so kind as to tell me, whether or not there are any...erm..._pretty ladies_ about the area?" He peered into the hall suspiciously, looking left and right as though afraid of somebody being there. With a look of disappointment and gloom, he stepped inside. "I thought not. Oh well!" Throwing his arms up in the air, he might have been skipping into the parlor, and it would not have been stranger. Colin mentally made a note not to tangle with this one. Or let him have too many drinks.

The next to step inside the door was another eccentric gentleman; this time, a man who seemed around seventy, with a long white beard and purple cloak that fluttered about him like feathers on a bird. With a large smile, he took Colin's hand, his eyes sparkling. "Very nice to meet you, indeed, _Very_ nice indeed! I am Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. But you may call me Dumbledore." He said his entire name in one long-winded breath, and without skipping a beat, went on to exclaim about how the house was exactly how he had remembered it on his last visit, and how pretty the windows looked. Colin made another mental note, before turning back to look outside, waiting for the next guest.

"Surely, you jest, foul beast of the earth! Surely!" Rang out a velvety voice, almost consumed by the tearing wind around the mansion. Another voice, much gruffer, and which reminded one of unpolished stone, replied, "Have I ever given you reason to doubt me, tree-dweller?"

An odd pair came up the walk this time; a small, round little man, more wide than he was tall, and with a long beard that was braided all the way down his chest. He wore attire all in browns and reds, with a large silver watch on his right hand, wrapped around his fat wrist. His companion was, in all ways, the opposite of the short man. Tall and slender, pale and fair-haired, the handsome figure wore clothes that looked tailored to his very frame, and walked with an air of grace and tranquility. His tone, albeit soothing and lyrical, was nonetheless full of bursting humor restrained. "No, you have not, Gimli. But I do wonder, sometimes, about how reliable your memory is of late. You do tend to have difficulty remembering these days, old friend."

The two paused on the road halfway to the house, watching each other with a solemn sadness. The shorter companion coughed, "Aye, Legolas. We did have some good times."

His colleague nodded, clapping him comradely on the shoulder. The pair continued, and Colin felt the rise of an unnamed emotion rise in his chest. The two friends seemed so..._important_, and _sophisticated._ No, those weren't the correct words. But Colin knew there was something entirely special between them, and he would find out what before they left.

"Oi! Let me go, you confounded old fool! Let me _go_!" The young man turned around, to see three more figures come up the walk. One, a man in his mid-thirties, with his hand gripped around the arm of a much younger and handsomer soul. The young boy couldn't be past his early twenties, and he shared similar features as Legolas. Fair-hair, and boyish face, he wore jeans and a simple T-shirt, but held the air of a spoiled aristocrat. The man who held him met eyes with the boy, and the two shared a look of utter contempt. Leaning forward, the older man sneered, "My apologies, good sir. You looked like someone I knew. A young man, with all the airs and graces you possess." He had an insane edge to his voice, and sounded as though he was about to burst into laughter. Bowing low respectfully, he crooned, "Barbossa, at yer service, kind sir."

The younger man looked at him in disbelief for a moment, then rubbed his sore arm. Placing a generous smile on his features, he bowed his head to the older gent. "There is no apology needed, Monsieur Barbossa. I am Raoul de Chagny. I would be very pleased to make your acquaintance. If only we had met under less..._unfortunate_ circumstances, as you mistaking me for someone else. I offer my services."

They both nodded, but Colin could tell that both were merely giving a facade of politeness, and the glare they both bestowed one another made Colin sure a fist-fight was about to break out. Or at the very least, a verbal war. Greeting them both, and taking their hats and coats, he led these last guests into the parlor. Stepping up quickly beside the flabbergasted Colin, Laurence whispered, "That is enough for now. Thank you for you help, Colin. Go back to the kitchens now, and help that girl with the refreshments. And don't break the glasses."

Laurence seemed skilled at giving orders, and even more skilled at not letting the company hear the strict demands, but Colin was grateful for the compliment. If only he hadn't been told to leave all the strange, exotic guests... It was definitely going to make for an interesting evening...


	3. Discoveries by the guests

All around the parlor were seating colorful guests, in all varying attire. The first guest (who upon being pressed, only revealed his name to be 'Erik') was seemingly more at ease once the guests began to arrive, although he did not interact with any of them. Legolas and Gimli were gazing at the interesting paintings on the wall, while young Susan scolded her little brother. Jack Sparrow was no where to be found, although faint noises in the wine cellar could be heard.

Barbossa was seated in a large armchair, next to Erik, watching Raoul de Chagny closely. He did not seem to realize that Jack Sparrow had arrived at all, rather, he was more focused on the party who were _not_ becoming rapidly drunk.

Albus Percival --well, _Dumbledore_-- was relating to Raoul de Chagny all the fine points of lemon drops, and how useful they were to keep certain creatures out of one's garden. Raoul de Chagny seemed distracted, before Dumbledore insisted he speak his mind. "A penny for your thoughts, young man!"

Raoul shrugged, "I was just thinking of my wife, Monsieur. She wished to come today, but she was ill."

Anyone looking might have caught Erik, apparently consumed in a book, flinching at the mention of Raoul's wife. Barbossa, being of a very sharp sort, looked between the two for a moment, when a malicious grin crossed his features. He turned to Erik, and in his gruff voice, asked, "I wonder, kind sir, if you are acquainted with the de Chagnys?"

Erik looked directly into the eyes of Barbossa, leaped up and, shouting in a voice that sounded as smooth as honey, yet with a tone as harsh and cold as ice, "My acquaintances are none of your concern, sea rat!" All eyes fell on him. In his sudden rage, his wide-brimmed hat had fallen to the floor.

He had a normal face, though there was something distinctly odd about his features. They were stiff, and emotionless, though his bright yellow eyes shone with obvious anger, and every sort of emotion possible to be contained in such a man. After a few moments of silence, it finally dawned on the larger portion of the guests that although very ingeniously constructed, Erik wore a mask. A mask that resembled, in the dim light of the parlor room, a real face. But it was as immobile and expressionless as all his other masks previous. Which, of course, nobody in the room except Raoul knew about. The young man paled as he recognized the emanating power of the Phantom, and he took a step back, suddenly bumping into a table that he had not know was there before.

Upon the glass coffee table lay a key, and a small scrap of paper, with flowing handwriting scrawled on its surface. Raoul looked around at the other guests, then bent down to pick it up. Erik, once again seated, pulled his hat back on to cover his face.

Everyone else excepting Erik, Barbossa, and of course, Jack Sparrow (who was still in the wine cellar) gathered around Raoul as he read the note.

_Dear Guests,_

_You are all wondering by now, for what reason I have requested your attendance to what may seem to most of you to be a very dull, run-down old mansion. I assure you, this is most definitely not so, and while some may see my reasons as mad, you will just have to discover the validation of such an accusation for yourselves._

_You all are to stay for the duration of the evening, and by the time of precisely 11 O'Clock, either you will decide to return to your distant homes, which you have traversed in great extent and to large sums paid, or to remain in my home. I fear that important matters keep me from greeting you to my household personally, but I am sure you will find that my hired help is most capable of making your stay as comfortable as possible. _

_Be assured, you will not be required to pay me, OR my hired help any sum of money for the entirety of your stay. This one is completely free of charge, and I would be hard put to it to request such a thing of you, when you have all traveled so far, and been curious so long._

_Please, do look upon the table before you; there is a small key there. It goes to the cupboard behind the wine cellar, which holds the key to each of your rooms, should you decide to stay. If you do not, please return the key, and the slip of paper with your name and directions to your room._

_Thank you all, and hopefully, I will be seeing you soon._

_Your Good Friend,_

_Nicholas_

All the guests looked at each other in curiosity, none speaking. Finally, Gimli son of Gloin gave a deep grunt. "Well, that sounds amiable of him! Leaving his company without a hello, nor a goodbye! Without an explanation!"

His best friend, Legolas, said nothing, merely standing in thoughtful silence, his otherworldly beauty darkened by the look of contemplation on his brow. All around the room was a feeling of silent suggestions, each in turn being refused by its maker. Ridiculous notions floated through the very air they breathed, and each looked at the others in turn, wondering who the mysterious owner of the mansion must be.

"Doesn't anybody know who the bloody bugger is?" Suddenly piped up Edmund Pevensie, the noisy boy from earlier. He was infamous for completely ignoring the age-old rule of 'Children should be seen, and not heard', and was quite happy to be the first to speak out amongst so many adults. His sister Susan shushed him, telling him to behave. Without speaking, anyone could tell that Susan was very afraid. Being the only female, not to mention one of the only children, she was vexed by the change of situation, and ignored by the rest of the party. Their parents would never have consented to the instructions on the mysterious note left on their doorstep two weeks earlier, but as they were now under the care of a certain eccentric old man while their parents were away, there was not much choice in the matter. After reading the note with a queer gleam in his eye, the professor then insisted Edmund and Susan leave the other siblings behind, and accept the invitation. After much protest, they had been sent on the next train out. Susan had never felt so much like an object before. It seemed like the professor had _wanted_ them to leave!

"My dear boy, you have no idea with whom you are dealing with. And as this is _his_ home, I am certain basic mannerisms require you to refrain from insults." Erik's voice was sharp as steel, hissing through the air like a whip. Edmund was indignant, and puffed out his small chest with as much determination as a little boy could muster in the presence of such a demanding and frightening grown-up."And do _you_ have any idea with whom you are dealing with?" The boy demanded. Erik's eyes flickered with a fury barely contained. His eyes flitted about the room in a slightly mad fashion, and he took a deep breath, staring at the carpet of the parlor. Standing, he walked out of the room, shutting it behind him with a chilling _click_.

Dumbledore chose this time to rise, a happy twinkle in his blue eyes as he surveyed his fellows. "Well, now. Well now, indeed! I suppose we all have our theories on the mysterious person who has allowed us to remain in this quite beautiful house, despite not being able to entertain us personally!" He sat upon the coffee table, twiddling his thumbs with a beaming smile. "Do everyone tell the rest how they came to this very place in the world. It is quite a coincidence, you know. Quite a coincidence, indeed."

Barbossa stood, walking over to the mantle to stare into the tiny flicker of flame on the hearth. It gave the room no warmth, but it was not as if Barbossa could feel its sensation anyway. Transfixed with the flame, he spoke in a monotone, and that slight insane edge to his voice was quite apparent as he told his tale.

"It was not three months ago, when I received the letter. Strange, how it came to me. Almost as though the one who sent it had powers beyond natural... I was standing upon the deck of my ship, watching the sea roll past, and wishing for the dawn to arrive. It was about the fourth hour of the new day, and the sun had not yet risen on the horizon. It shocked me, to be true. Usually the sun arises early on the sea, being as there is nothing in its way to arrive.

I could have sworn upon me own mother's grave that there was no letter at all, seeing as how it floated through the air, light as a feather, flittering down to land on the poop deck, at me feet. I bent down, picked it up, and found it was addressed to none other than me. Upon reading it, I decided a bit of something to drink, to calm me nerves, was in order. I promise ye, I left that letter in me jacket pocket, but when I searched to read it again, it was gone. The letter was very plain, hand-written with a strange, green color to the pen. It stated that I, Captain Hector Barbossa, am very much needed at the home of a certain M. Nicholas, and that it would be very much in my favor to leave me crew behind." Barbossa turned to the rest of the group, decided against mention the leverage which had been included in the letter.

_Also, my dearest Hector, I promise that as many apples as you wish will be provided. You will find them quite enjoyable; my household produces the finest._

Some sort of trickery was behind all of this, he was certain. But not a word he spoke, the amount of trust with his companions not appearing with the ability to become established. Legolas chose this moment to speak up. Barbossa turned from the fireplace, to watch the beautiful young man as all the others did.

"Our letter arrived in much the same way. But in a more believable fashion. I was watching my knives being reforged, as a particularly difficult match had caused them to dent. As that is a disrespectable way to go on a hunt, I was especially eager for them to be finished by the end of the week. As the smith was placing the finishing touches, a scout elf came into the area, and came directly to me. A human, most likely an ambassador of his race, had come to discuss respectable trades with my father; and to request I come with him to his land, for I was much wanted. He gave me a letter, which I read with ample curiousity, and I placed it on my personage for utmost safety. When I searched for it later, it was missing."

The rest agreed, their letters had arrived similarly. After a few minutes of silence, Colin entered the room, to announce that supper was being served in the dining room, and that he had been instructed to accompany them all there.

What was to happen in that room, with its old oak table, and velvet cushioned chairs, was only to be discovered upon the guests' entry.


	4. Arrival of Morgan

**  
Chapter Three: The Arrival Of Another Guest**

AKA: Oh...Legolas! Poor Thing!

The lush table settings greeted the hungry company; luscious, blood red napkins, set delicately beside twinkling wine glasses. Colin led the way to each of the table settings(each with an indicated name written on a folded paper, laying on the dark red plates). After being seated, two chairs seemed noticeably empty. Susan, who was seated next to one of the empty seats, leaned over to check. "Erik," she read, turning to her fellows.

"He's probably wandered off someplace." suggested Barbossa quietly, stroking his chin in a very thoughtful fashion. The company agreed mutually.

Legolas turned to the second empty chair, "For whom, may I ask, is the other setting?"

Dumbledore, sitting at his own place setting with a broad grin on his face, gave Legolas a look of elation. "It simply must be Mr. Sparrow. He is the only one not present, correct?"

A few people nodded, but one or two whispered, "Who is Mr. Sparrow?" After all, he had been hardly seen, going directly to the wine cellar immediately after arriving.

As though he knew he was being discussed, the aforementioned Mr. Sparrow stumbled into the room on tipsy feet, his formerly very distinguished-looking appearance disheveled; and he fell into the door frame, gripping it tightly. "I'm sorry for being late." He slurred, his speech obviously dead-drunk. Susan gave Edmund a look to silence him, the boy looking completely elated at the prospect of the new visitor. Being the naughty sort of boy, he believed drunks to be the most fun to play pranks on. Susan would not allow this, knowing that a report of Edmund almost killing Mr. Sparrow would not be very pleasurable for a grown-up even such as the Professor.

Seating himself rather sloppily into a chair, Jack surveyed the room. "Well?" He said, "Are we going to eat, or what?"

With that, the group turned as the cook(namely, Laurence Shannon), came out with plates of food. Delectable dishes passed before the company, and they all began to take their fill, eating with amiable silence. Once in awhile, a member of the group would speak up to commence small talk with another. It was altogether a lot more enjoyable then the beginnings of the evening had promised.

Just as most were pushing their plates away, unable to eat another bite, the door from the main hall opened, and a young girl walked in. She was brimming of youth and curiosity, with short dark hair, that looked nearly black. Her bright eyes looked like a strange blend of dark blues and greens, with a pale gray tint to them. She looked all around the table for a minute, with the guests watching her expectantly. Smiling shyly, she met the eyes of Legolas. "Hi..." she murmured. "Can I join you?"

Dumbledore gave her his bright beaming smile, his eyes twinkling behind his spectacles. "Of course you may, my dear! It just so happens, a friend of ours was unable to join, and there is a spare seat. I'm sure nobody would mind if you sit!" He looked around at everyone else, holding his hands up in an elegant fashion. 

There was a mutual nod, and she felt an increasing nervousness as they all watched her sit. It just so happened that Erik's chair had been set in between Susan Pevensie, and Legolas Greenleaf. When Legolas stood up and pulled out her chair for her, the girl turned a shade of brightest pink. "Thank you." She whispered, so lowly that if Legolas had not happened to be an elf, he would not have heard her.

"My pleasure, Miss." He said amiably, seating himself. Turning to the rest of the table, he spoke. "I find the human food here has a distinct resemblance to my own, curiously. Have any of you noticed how filling each bite is, or how blissful each taste to the tongue?"

Dumbledore nodded, and the newcomer seated next to Susan sighed contentedly, watching Legolas. She was given a look from each member of the company, and was quickly silenced. Dumbledore, positively grinning at her antics, sent a reluctant Edmund to retrieve a plate from the cook for the young lady.

Barbossa, turning to her, inquired, "And what is your name, miss?"

Hesitating in front of such a scrutinizing company, she had to be encouraged twice by Susan before she mumbled, "Morgan..."

"Morgan what, my dear?" Coaxed Dumbledore, looking her straight in the eyes, urging her to continue."It is alright. We are just a bit nervous tonight."

This seemed to assure her at least a little, for Morgan raised her head a bit higher, and stated with semi-stability, "Morgan Rhea, sir." She turned to smile up at Legolas, leaning toward him and softly whispering, "I've always wanted to meet you."

Legolas raised a delicate eyebrow, and Morgan felt her heart flutter. He was so..._sophisticated_...

The man was in no way young in a mortal sense, neither was he mortal. Being as Elves are noticeably slow-maturing, they often live for centuries without appearing older than a day. Legolas was now becoming quite middle-aged, Elf-wise; he seemed to humans about his mid-twenties. With long, fair locks, and an equally flawless complexion, he might not have come across as strong and serious as he truly was. In today's society, one may even lay claim to his indifference as selfishness and perhaps even a confusion as to personal gender. This was definitely not the case, in any fashion. Elves are quite proud creatures, and interestingly perfect in appearance with their immortal powers. One with nature and its powers, Elves go about their lives determined to maintain a balance in the world. Legolas was no exception.

What might have sealed his fate with today's society, however, was the fact that this tall, beautiful, proud being was of royal blood. Legolas was the son to the King of Mirkwood, a forest seemingly untouched by the threads of time, its mysteries haunting all that pass the ominous trees. A prince, he was nonetheless confused by Morgan's attentions to his person. He asked himself if he had acted in any way to make her assume he returned the emotion.

The rest of the party watched on, in either indifference or a fleeting interest. Susan was in awe of Morgan's brashness, and decided she immediately liked the girl. 


	5. Notes

Chapter Four: The Mysterious Mirror

AKA: And They All Fall Down

Erik waited until the last of the guests had exited the parlor, then quickly stepped inside, silently picking up the key upon the coffee table and striding over to the wine cellar. The cupboard was precisely where it had been detailed; ten small keys glimmered up cheerfully at the masked man. Each key had a slip of paper tied to it, detailing a guest's name. Slipping in a hand, he picked up the brass key with his name on it, and closed the cupboard. Replacing everything as it was, he strode from the room with all the speed possible to man.

The hallway was dark and musty, the dank smell of decay and dust hung upon the air: a silent shroud of mystery. It did not take him long to find his own room; the lock within the door gave a loud snap as it opened. His eyes glistened with interest as he recognized the ancient system. It would be easy to break into other rooms, he realized. Definitely something to keep in mind, just in case.

Stepping into his quarters, Erik was surprised to find the living space he was to remain in was quite different from the hallway he had just left. The large, scenic windows were open, allowing a comfortable breeze to flow through the space. A thick carpet covered the floor, and long draperies hung from the ceiling, creating a soft atmosphere.

Erik quickly took in the details of the room and, finding it suitable to his needs, sat down upon the bed. He then took notice of a large envelope on the bedside table...  
_  
Erik,_

I see you have found your room in one piece. I hope you remain so in the future days ahead. Please do make yourself comfortable. Meanwhile, I simply must direct you towards the lovely view outside your windows.  
It is simply **_to die for._**__

Your Good Friend,

M. Nicholas

Erik took notice of the particular accent on the words 'to die for', and wondered at the emphasis's meaning. After all, he knew all but nothing about the person within whose house he was staying. He did not even know _why_ he had decided to stay...curiosity, perchance? It was always a devil of a thing, curiosity. Lingering about in the corners of one's mind, continually demanding to be vanquished only by the blood of knowledge, weaned on revelations.

Setting down the brief, scrawled note upon the table, he came to the window, staring out into the ominous twilight. There seemed to be nothing of particular interest out-of-doors, but he was sure there was some special meaning behind the words underlined upon the wrinkled page. Staring out into the oncoming night, his yellow eyes seemed like two tiny pinpricks of gold shimmering beneath the moon, as it began its ascent into the blackened sky. Erik sighed, the mysteries of the evening putting him quite at odds with the alleged sanity of the mansion's owner. Who was this M. Nicholas? He certainly wished to remain anonymous for the most part; his name apparently meant nothing to the other occupants of the household. M. Nicholas...

Maybe there was nothing behind the name, and it was merely an alias, a fake name created by some mad being looking for a bit of fun with each of the odd guests. It was something certainly intriguing to the former opera ghost, and he would not rest peacefully until he discovered it.  
_  
Although, it isn't that I have been getting decent sleep either way. Ah, to fall into the eternal bliss that is death! To dream forevermore! You corpses, hidden beneath the dry grasses; you have found true happiness. Perhaps a happiness Erik is doomed never to experience._ A deep, melodious sigh escaped his lips, the two malformed pieces of pale flesh hidden beneath the strange mask. It was not as though Erik had not dreamed often enough. It was that his dreams left him feeling even more hollow, and lifeless. As though he had given a part of himself to that dream, that hope; and it had been ripped away from him.

The sun had set now, the pale moonlight laid upon the expanse of the moor; its open plain allowing him to watch the vast sky without ceasing. Erik knelt at the window for a time uncounted, different questions and answers racing through his mind. But most of the time, he merely stayed, quietly enjoying the beauty of the silence. A wind picked up on the open moor, and his thinning hair blew into his eyes.

**"No!!"** Screeched a young female voice, and Erik blinked furiously out of his state, turning towards the locked door. He heard the unmistakable stomping of many feet, and laughter. Irritated, Erik thrust a rude hand gesture at the closed door, and shut the window.

"Morgan, are you alright?" Another female voice stood out to Erik, and his memory reminded him that she was that Susan Pevensie girl, with the foolish younger brother. Though he was irate with the boisterous company for interrupting his thoughts, Erik couldn't resist standing near the door, trying to make out snippets of conversation. The sounds muffled together, but he could safely assume from the new name – Morgan - that a new member had joined the group, and that everyone had finished their meal. He wouldn't be missed at the foolish ritual, he was sure. Humans spent far too much time eating. It was no wonder most of them were overweight.

A pair of footsteps passed his door, and he decided to wait until most were in bed tonight before leaving his room again. He did not want any interruptions when he questioned the 'hired help' of the household. Surely they would know at least a little of their benefactor, which they could - in turn - relate to him.

"Morgan...?!"

This word caught Erik's attention, and as the predictable shuffling of feet congregated in the musty hall, he listened.

"Morgan, what's happened? What's wrong?"

"It would appear that she has fainted." Spoke that queer Dumbledore, in a serious tone. "We should get her to bed."

After much pathetic exclamations from the entire boisterous party, Erik was appeased with the sound of a silent hallway. They had all wandered off to bed, the drama ended. Now, to begin solving the mystery of _le manoir de M. Nicholas_.

His door make a slight creaking noise as he slowly eased it open, Erik looked up and down the hall to ensure it was empty. Only the tall and fair-haired M.Greenleaf remained, and he was preoccupied with a strange-looking bust upon its pedestal, something clenched in his hand.

Turning to walk down the stairs, Erik's light step making no sound, he was surprised to hear the strange man's voice break the silence of the hallway. "You go seeking a solution to the enigma of the manor, good sir?"

Erik turned, finding that Legolas had not turned to watch the masked man descend the steps. _He is the first to have heard my presence without my consent in a decade..._ "What man would not wish to solve such a riveting mystery?"

Legolas turned to give Erik a cold stare – an expression returned on the elf readily – and slowly nodded, their eyes locked as each figure calculated the other. After a time, the Mirkwood Prince held up a slip of paper that was crumpled in his hand. "I found this on the newcomer; I thought you might find it useful."

Studying the other as though expected a sudden attack, Erik steadily walked over and retrieved the note, smoothing it out in his gloved hands and reading the now-familiar scrawl. Another note from M. Nicholas.  
_  
Delightful Miss Morgan,  
I am very much gratified to hear that you were able to arrive. I am sure you will find your room to be quite satisfactory to your needs. I do hope that your meeting with Legolas Greenleaf was nothing short of copacetic!_

Your Good Friend,  
M.Nicholas

P.S. It's in the bedside drawer. I do hope you find the lighting in your closet suitable; I had to request extra lamps in order for you to fully appreciate it all.

Erik looked up at M.Greenleaf, confusion dominating his expressive eyes. Legolas was apathetic as he asked, "What do you make of it, human?"

"It would seem our mysterious benefactor revels in using a diverse vocabulary, and leaving his guests ambiguous hints revealed only in even more secretive notes. Which, may I add, can add up to much, or nothing at all. He would apparently take pleasure in the child's game 'treasure hunt'."

Legolas clasped his hands behind his back, staring off down the hallway with a contemplative expression. "What causes these conclusions to come to your person?"

The man seemed shocked for a moment, then haltingly replied, "The vocabulary. He uses uncommon words such as 'copacetic', and 'gratified'. I myself received a private note, which also had the strange undertones as this note has. He suggests that the child requested to meet you, therefore leaving open the possibility of young Morgan's arrival to be the usage of personal ties. What I mean to say, Monsieur, is that Morgan came because she was promised by our host the ability to meet you." Erik waited a moment, until Legolas beckoned him to continue. "These not-so subtle hints tell me that the sender enjoys to confuse others, and force them to actually think about the information they are given. An enjoyment often used in the child's game."

By this time, Legolas had begun pacing silently along the hall, Erik's voice echoing softly as he finished speaking, and waited for the elf's reply. "Do you understand the complications you are suggesting? This 'host' of ours – who has decided to remain completely anonymous, therefore alienating himself from the 'guests' – knows not only who I am, and where I come from, but also that I would accept the invitation. That is even afore I mention that this 'Morgan' child seems to know almost – if not, all – as our host. The implications are astounding, yet curiously familiar, sir!"

Erik nodded, and an uncomfortable silence ensued. Legolas blinked, then looked up to demand Erik's full attention and gaze. "You said you also received a similar note? Would I be too forward to request to see it?"__

I do not see how it could hurt me, as I've already detailed some of my calculations so far. Perhaps this stranger could provide some insight into a note that has left even my intellect baffled.

When M. Greenleaf had the carefully folded note in hand, he held it up to the light in order to read it more clearly. His brow furrowing in deep thought, he placed a calloused finger upon a certain phrase. Erik took note that this man seemed to use two particular fingers more than the others. An archer, perhaps? "My good sir, am I reading this correctly? 'To die for'?" When Erik did not reply, Legolas shook his head, "Might I once again intrude, and request to see this apparently magnificent view?"

Erik shrugged, nonchalant and curious as to whether or not this Greenleaf could create a better solution to the strange puzzle than himself. He led the way to his room, walking over and opening up the window. A chilling breeze floated through the room's atmosphere, making the hair on both men's necks stand on end. Before either of them could lean out the window for a better look, a piercing scream broke out, and both figures turned to each other, almost accusingly.

"The parlor room." Legolas said simply, and they raced off, leaving the window as Erik tucked both notes into an inner pocket.

By the time they reached downstairs, Colin was panicking. The young man's blue eyes widened in fear as he saw the two dark and ominous forms appear at the door to the parlor. "S-She just collapsed! I didn't do anything!" He gestured wildly at Melantha, who was sprawled out on the floor, her raven tressed fanned out around her pale face. The deep brown eyes were open, unblinkingly staring into nothingness as her white hand gripped a note. Erik strode over, checking her pulse silently. Legolas walked over to the mantelpiece, where Melantha must have been facing when she fell. A small hand-mirror was lain face-down atop it, and he began to pick it up when Erik's voice broke the stunned silence.

"She'll come around soon. Tell me what happened."

Legolas turned to look at Colin, who could not have looked in a worse state of shock if he had wished it upon himself. "W-We were just talking, and I...I mean, I asked her if she was seein' anybody. She had been messing with something in the fireplace, and when she stood up, she suddenly gripped her ears, like they hurt or somethin'. I didn't do anything, honest!"

The two figures now crouched around Melantha ignored Colin's continuous whimperings, looking at each other as though sharing a silent conversation. Erik whispered, "Shock. She must have either seen something, or known something and pieced it together." He looked down a muttered a curse. "I should have come down sooner, I don't know if she'll be fit to interrogate after this. Let us hope she is amiable after her collapse." Legolas merely nodded, indicating the mantel piece with his eyes.

Erik turned promptly to Colin, quickly coming up with something for the boy to do. "Get some warm water and a few towels, and a bit of strawn to revive her. Make haste!"

Legolas raised an eyebrow at the last request, and Erik shrugged. "I had to make up some sort of herb to keep him out of our blasted way."

Giving the man a slight grin, Legolas reached over to pick up the mirror on the mantle. "What are your thoughts on this?"

Erik hesitated before lifting up the hand-mirror, his own reflection sending a shiver down his spine. _Bloody mirrors..._

"It appears to be an ordinary mirror, but I fear it has some relevance to the mystery." Legolas continued, turning to watch as the young woman began to stir. "Your thoughts?"

When Erik did not answer immediately, the prince turned to see the man still staring at his stony face in the glass. Giving the man a rough shake on his arm, Erik looked up, a melancholy expression in his golden eyes. It took a full minute before Erik found himself under control again, and Legolas noticed the mirror disappeared, probably into some distant pocket on the masked man. "My thoughts? Talk to the girl. She certainly seems able to eaves-drop with quite a bit of talent."

She was sitting up now, her wide brown eyes watching the two men in fear as they talked in low voices. "I don't know anything. Just leave me alone."

Erik felt compelled to roll his eyes and just threaten the obvious hidden truths out of her, but struggled to refrain. He would not rest until this freakish secret was found out. "Mademoiselle, we merely wish to learn how you came to be unconscious on the floor of the parlor. Can you detail to us exactly what happened?"

Melantha shook her head, the black locks flying wildly around her face. "Colin was babbling on. I wanted him to shut up, or at least block him out. I walked over to the mantle to dust it off or something, and I saw this mirror there... I was looking at my reflection, when I suddenly heard tons of screams...screams in my ear...I wanted to..." She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders racking with sobs. "I'm sorry. I just..._I wanted to murder somebody. To make it stop._"

It took several minutes for Colin to come back; and when he did, he heard that Melantha had collected herself enough to go up to her own bed for the night. Only Erik and Legolas remained in the room, reclining upon the chairs... deep in thought... First the young Morgan, then Melantha.  
Erik looked up to meet Legolas' eyes. She had told them everything, they knew. But what did it mean? What had happened in the parlor, what was happening to the women in the mansion, and most of all, who was M. Nicholas? What were his intentions? 


	6. A New Dawn

  
Chapter Four: A New Dawn

AKA: GGJ5 and I share a mutual lack of talent at titles.

"What shall I do now?" Erik wondered aloud, "A mysterious host, a houseful of guests who have no idea why they are here, two girls fainted, and a bloody mirror!" He gestured his confusion, the oncoming threat of Erik looming on the edge of his mind. The other him; the one that consumed his every thought, every action, leaving him with a dark lust to quench his weak and stupid fellow humans. The side of him that didn't think, only acted on impulse. Never again would he be helplessly left, being alone in the aftermath of Erik. A constant battle of inner humanity and the ability to place all moral laws behind; he was faced with the question: what did he really want?

Legolas's voice stirred him from his thoughts, the elf now standing near the window, looking out on the haunting moon upon the moor. "Did you hear me, Erik? I suggested we go see Miss Morgan's room. Her note mentioned something inside her closet, did it not?"

In a moment Erik had the note in his gloved hand, "Yes, indeed it did. Why not tonight? The evening is still young."

The elven head shook in the negative. "Miss Morgan has been placed in her room for the evening, and the last I have heard, she was still asleep. We would not want her to awake with two strangers in her chamber, no?"

Erik seriously considered the pure logic Legolas presented, then stood up with a growl. "Then we can simply not wake her up! I cannot rest without knowing what I am up against. I would be unable to, as much as I would wish to argue. This body will simply not rest while bloody curiosity is nagging at my mind." He started for the door. "I must know with what forces I am to contend!"

Legolas did not move, his eyes trained on the figure. The elf could tell there was quite a past to this strangely masked man, but he could not even begin to guess at what it was. Calmly, he replied. "I am sure that this 'M. Nicholas' will grow confident after tonight's affairs. Once he grows more confident, he will become less reserved. That, my good fellow, is when we strike."

Turning around to listen with all eagerness to Greenleaf's proposition, Erik seemed to consider this wise. Nodding slowly, Erik once more began to pace; this time, with more purpose, a more settled mentality. After several hours of silent questions, skeptical possible answers, and many ideas put to the test, the two men felt the strange chill that comes ere the dawn. All around the dimly lit room was the ominous whisper of dread. The candles burnt out many minutes before, Erik did not notice that Legolas's eyes grew glassy and unfocused, as though in worlds and eras long forgotten.

A sudden sound sent two pairs of eyes darting towards the door to the parlor, and Erik answered with a growl, "Yes?"

"P-Pardon me, sir, I don't mean to disturb you..." Came an old, leathery voice. "But breakfast is served."

The two men in the parlor audibly groaned, both reluctant to leave their thoughts. Erik went to open the door, with all intentions of ordering the man to leave, but Lawrence spoke again before Erik could reach the doorknob.

"And I think you'll regret missing this meal, sir. Scrumptious, it is. Simply to die for."

There was no evident inflections in his tone, simply a man fulfilling his duty as the head hired help. But both Erik and Legolas shared a curious look, and neither could possibly refuse. It was both a challenge, and a temptation.

Once out in the hall, Lawrence quickly left the doorway, scampering down the stairs first. He glanced back every few moments, to assure himself the two were following, it would seem. Some might say he was checking for possible daggers at his back, but none but Lawrence himself would ever be able to say for sure. And his window of opportunity, the time he might have had a chance to tell someone, was quicker gone than even Lawrence himself might have guessed. For suddenly, Lawrence found himself feeling a strange bout of nausea deleted comma and dizziness. Moaning audibly, he whirled around the corner at surprising speed. Erik and Legolas noticed his strange behavior, and quickened their pace.

When they turned around the corner, Lawrence was nowhere in sight. There was the dank smell of smoke in the air, a toxic odor that reminded both men of very different times in their lives. Neither of them lacking for blood, gore, and death.

Erik quickly went to each and every door, searching for any possible exits. Either Lawrence was a more talented runner than either of them thought, or he had simply disappeared.

After a few minutes of searching, both agreed that the best thing to do was to simply go to breakfast. Perhaps, by some strange turn of events, Lawrence was already in the dining room, out of breath and gasping for air. If not, they would have to relate the miraculous event to the rest of the guests.

But what could they say? Would anyone care to believe that Lawrence Shannon had disappeared into thin air, especially the moment after he had become disoriented and a bit eccentric? Erik had not exactly made himself the most well-liked of the remnant guests, and Legolas had remained mostly with Gimli – besides his brief chat with Miss Morgan, whom had collapsed along with Susan. One might have said that it was merely women's wiles, just a strange faint after such oddities as being invited to a home with no host. But the case of Lawrence was certainly not accountable through women fainting. Something was seriously wrong with this place, this house, this situation. They had no other wish than that somehow, Lawrence would be in the dining room. Or that the others would believe them and leave immediately, at least.

"Three in one night." Was all Legolas said, as they entered the dining room. Quickly scanning the chattering guests, Erik's eyes darkened.

"Four."  



	7. Revelations Of Infatuations

Chapter Six: Revelations Of Infatuations

AKA: Chappy Six/Four

Legolas raised an eyebrow at Erik's murmured comment. "Four? What do you mean? Is someone else missing from the party?" The elf scanned the crowd, counting them with all due haste. All were seemingly present, lacking only Lawrence himself.

Erik shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving the face of Hector Barbossa, who to any other eyes looked just the same as he had the previous evening. But to Erik, and eventually Legolas, was seen a queer sort of gleam in his eye, as of one who knows something he will not share with his brethren. He sat quietly in a corner of the dining room table, watching the others chat happily to each other.

"There have been four happenings since our arrival the previous evening. Both females' collapse, the disappearance of Monsieur Lawrence, and perhaps a visit to our dear Monsieur Barbossa." When Erik strode in to sink into a chair at the table, he was met with a few surprised stares; all of which he ignored.

Legolas followed his new companion's suit, and seated himself calmly, doing his best not to meet the eyes of Hector Barbossa, a temptation that Erik seemed to defeat with ease. Placing the lace napkin in his lap, he turned with due attention to the breakfast meal - which the rest of the party had already laid into with great enthusiasm. Both the masked man and the elf did not say a word, but merely placed their food of choice onto their plates, dutifully ignoring the curious glances being thrown their way.

Upon their seating, the entire room had gone dead silent, the ominous wonderment on everybody's lips enticingly not satiated by any explanation. All through the meal, hardly a word was spoken, save for the occasional "Pass the butter, if you please", or a timid, "More eggs, sir?"

Miss Morgan - who after the previous night's events, looked notably better - sat quietly in her chair, pushing the food about her plate, and seemingly infatuated with the tapestry on yonder wall. Her face still looked a bit crimson, as though when she had blushed at Legolas' aid the previous night, she had still not yet reduced the amount of embarrassment she had felt earlier.

She did not watch the prince now, consumed in her study of the tapestry - which beheld to her the scene of a hunt for a white stag - the only revelation of her thoughts displayed in the rose of her cheeks, and the eerie glimmer of fear in her wide eyes. Legolas watched her, mulling over the discovery from the previous evening: the fact that she had come here, presumably, just to see him. Wondering why such an occurrence would happen - and in any case, happen to him - and testing out possible theories as to why she would have accepted such an invitation.

"May I be excused?" murmured Susan quietly, and all eyes turned to her. All in the room were uptight and light-headed with their own thoughts, and her quiet question had stirred them out of their reveries.

"Of course, my dear," smiled Dumbledore. "Don't get lost now."

Susan returned his bright and cheery grin - so out of place with the gloomy house - with a weak smile of her own, then she exited.

Morgan finally turned from her tapestry-watching, and followed Susan out the door with her eyes. Legolas noticed the gleam of a certain, unnamed emotion in her eyes, and made note of it.

Jack Sparrow, seemingly untouched by the strange solemnity of the room's atmosphere, suddenly burst out with a, "Bloomers! Wha's wif the downy faces all 'round, eh?"

Nobody cared to answer him, only giving him a solemn, silencing look; returning to their breakfasting. Barbossa gave Jack a sideways glance, but decided a stinging retort could be ignored this time. Several minutes passed, with the only sound being of their breathing, and the scrap of utensil against plate...

Morgan sighed, now watching the door through which Susan had left not long ago, then turned to find Legolas watching her. Shivering beneath his unwavering gaze, he finally broke from his train of thought, and turned away to finally take note of what the meal consisted of: eggs, bacon, and hotcakes. In addition, all the trimmings. It would seem there was plenty of supplies in the kitchen. Legolas briefly pondered about how long the supplies had been purchased to last. Fresh food only lasted so long. Did M. Nicholas intend to keep them here indefinitely? How would he arrange their meals, if he refused to make himself known, and his guests stayed longer than anticipated?

"I'm going to go check on Susan. I'm worried about her," murmured Morgan, eager to escape from the eerie silence of the breakfast table. It felt as though hours had passed, though none of the group believed it could possibly be that long, for the ominous grandfather clock in the corner counted away the seconds in an unnaturally protracted speed, each amplified tick tock, tick tock felt far too long, far too slow.

The room began to close in on the party, smothering them in a questioning still. Despite his drunken stupor, even Jack Sparrow felt it, and promptly began to sweat, his eyes searching the room for an unseen enemy, a hidden weapon of fatal purport. Finally breaking the silence was the waited for sound, the noise each of them felt even before hearing it – a far-away scream, and the tread of small footsteps.

"Susan! Susan! Don't!" came the frightened, shaky voice of Morgan. Immediately, the barrier was broken, and all the chairs were pushed away from the table with a collective groan. The room cleared swiftly, all the guests running up the stairs wondering the same thing.

"What happened?" cried Raoul, running first into Morgan's chamber, where the noise had apparently come from. Morgan was sprawled on the floor, as though thrust there by some stronger force. Her hair flew wildly about her face as she shook her head, her hands covering her face, muffling her repeated moans of, "No...no...no..."

Kneeling at her feet, Raoul touched her shoulder gently, and asked her what had happened. Slowly removing her hands from her face – revealing tear-stained cheeks and a frightened look in her eyes – Morgan recognized Raoul, and shook her head violently. "No, I told her no, but she had to find out for herself. She's gone. She's gone back..."

"Gone where?" Raoul prodded gently, staring intently into her glassy eyes.

Morgan, looking toward her open window with a mournful look, closed her eyes and tried to hold back the tears. "She's gone home. Where she belongs. None of you are supposed to be here. But she insisted. She insisted! And I said no at first, but really, I wanted it to happen. Just like I wanted to come here." As she spoke, she turned to watch Legolas, standing in the crowd of people congregating just inside the open door. Meeting his eyes, Morgan's lips turned into a small, shy smile, and she wiped her tears away with a rebuking roughness. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I've been...I mean..."

"No need for apologies, Mademoiselle. No need at all." Raoul persisted, just as Erik left the uncomfortable closeness of the crowd and went to peer outside the open window Morgan had turned to look at previously. Wondering if Susan had leapt out, he thrust his head out the window and looked to the ground.

There was no sign of her. Susan had certainly not jumped out the window. She had not shown any signs of depression or a want of suicide at breakfast, either. But Morgan had looked very distinctly at the window. The question was: why?

"What's...going...on?" gasped a young voice, and everyone in the room turned to see Edmund, gasping for breath as he jumped to the top of the stairs. No one answered; everyone turned away except Morgan, who had started on a fresh set of tears. After a deep breath, Morgan tried to keep the quiver in her voice under control.

"Susan's gone home," she said simply. "She's gone back."

Edmund froze for a moment, then looked around at the many faces who would not meet his questioning eyes. As if unable to confirm her lack of presence, Edmund's voice remained level as he stated, "Liar. She's just hidden somewhere, that's all. Susan, you can come out, now!" He turned to go look inside the closet, and Morgan leapt up, just as Edmund turned the knob.

Silence in the room. Someone gasped quietly. Legolas's face twisted in a confused and surprised frown.

Inside the closet was a strange sort of shrine; a table was set up, with shelves surrounding it on all the walls. On each shelf was Legolas Greenleaf. Sketches, photos, busts, letters written with his hand, and so on. On the table was a strangely crafted figurine of him, his fair-hair molded into a wind-swept state. Morgan looked over at him, her face stained with fresh tears. "I'm sorry." She whispered.

"You expect a simply apology to replace an explanation?!" Legolas cried out, "You expect to apologize for being infatuated with me, for whatever reason?"

Everyone's eyes widened, but they said nothing. Erik gave a low chuckle, and his voice carried across the room to taunt them, by whispering in their ear, "Have not the little ducklings heard of a little healthy obsession? Poor little ducklings..."

Legolas gave Morgan a look of cold icy wonderment, his expression stormy and filled with an indescribable passion. He silently exited the room, and the sound of his door shutting echoed down the hallway.

There was a deathly quiet throughout the room, save for the shuffling of Edmund, who was still looking desperately under the bed for his sister.

"You wouldn't happen to have a little shrine of anybody else in here, would you, Miss Morgan?" Erik questioned, with a teasing tone to his dark voice. Morgan silently shook her head, her shoulders bent with worry and confusion and regret.

Erik walked over to inspect the figure of Legolas Greenleaf in the closet, admiring how precise the mold was (though the painting was done way too hastily). Letting out a sound like, 'Hmph! Second-rate', Erik turned to Morgan, clasping his hands behind his back. The posture gave him the look of a very grim major in the army, and if the mask was not so restraining, he might have given them all a malicious grin. "Mademoiselle, I must ask the question on everyone's lips, apparently. Why do you have a shrine in your closet, and why have you come here to see the object of your infatuations?" 


	8. A Brief Interview with Morgan

Chapter Seven: A Brief Interview with Morgan

AKA: The Guests Finally Get A Clue

All eyes upon her, Morgan Rhea didn't know how to reply. These last few days had been very trying for her, quite depressing, in all honesty. Her gifts had not been nearly as enjoyable with all these strange, yet familiar faces. Now beneath their collective scrutiny, she wished all the objects in the closet would disappear, as would she. Squirming slightly on the floor, she inhaled a shaky breath, prepared to tell them something, anything, that would make them stop staring so much. She'd just wanted to meet Legolas Greenleaf, is all. He'd been everything she had hoped he would be. Excepting, of course, the fact that he was now quite angry and confused over her intentions.

Just before she began a long and dreadful confession, Melantha came into the room. She had been slower than even Edmund, it would seem; a by-product of the previous night's collapse. Melantha had come close enough to the door in time to hear the goings-on within, and she glared around the crowd with eyes snapping. "Can't you all see the child just wants to be left alone? Out! Get out!" Shouting with a temper as wild as the winds on the moor itself, she began shoving them all out the door with surprising strength. Morgan looked even more frightened and confused, but did not protest.

Erik was the only one who truly gave protest to the forced exit. "Do you not think that there should be some answers given before throwing me out, Mademoiselle?" He growled, watching her with a quiet fury beginning to spark in his deep voice. Melantha hesitated at the sound of his tone, but took a deep breath and shook her head. "There will be plenty of time for questions later. She's obviously distraught, can't you see? Or are you blind as well as--"

Melantha suddenly seemed to think it time to stop talking, and Erik watched a flicker of emotion in her eyes. Making note of her curious change of character, he chuckled quietly, the sound echoing in the now empty room, except the three of them. "As well as what, my dear? I am not as ignorant as you would believe. I can safely assure you that. I may not be a prince, but I can charm the very walls to move at my command!"

Morgan looked between the two of them quickly, then seemed to have a very amusing thought, choking back a series of strange noises in her throat. Erik, as though just remembering that she was there, finally exited the room, brushing past the gathered crowd outside. "Out of my way," he demanded, and the group obliged solemnly. Melantha, tight-lipped and with a look that promised a swift and sure challenge to any who dare cross into Morgan's room, slammed the door in their faces. Moments later, she opened it again, to thrust poor Edmund out into the hallway. His hair and shirt had little bits of dirt stuck to it from crawling under the bed in search of his sister, and he had a fearful, almost maddening look in his eyes.

"Have you folks seen my sister? She was just here. Susan! Stop fooling with me and come out!" He walked down the hall, to begin searching each room individually. Hushed voices were heard inside Morgan's chamber, but none dared to lean an ear to listen. It seemed the party did not know what to do next, and several feared, deep in their hearts, that they would disappear next, too.

"It's only been females," Raoul announced quietly. "First they all seemed...seemed to be overwhelmed by some strange force. And now they're starting to vanish." Raoul clenched his fists at his sides, wondering if there was a deep purpose for his being here, now. Christine's face had occupied his thoughts for the majority of the visit. The look of sadness on her face when he had told her he did not know when he would return. To appease her, he had promised to come back soon, or send word to her, detailing what was happening.

"But the question is," Sparrow slurred, "the quest..." He seemed to forget momentarily what he had been intending to say, and he spent a moment staring off into space, as though trying to get a glimpse of something that would remind him. A sparkle of joy flashed in his eyes, and he mouthed 'Ah', then continued. "The question is, whys would anyone, man or beast, want to take our women-folks?"

The party being a tad irritated by Sparrow's talent for leaving one in suspense, they did not answer at first. Then Albus Dumbledore, with a flash of humor in his bespectacled eyes, spoke up. "Perhaps," he suggested sagely, "Our minds could operate more effectively, if we were to go down to the drawing room to sit? Or perhaps, in the case of good de Chagny, some pacing. For he looks as though that is his intention.

Raoul looked up, realizing that he had, in fact, been walking back and forth in the hallway over the same three or four paces, and he offered Albus a half-hearted smile. "My apologies. I did not realize I was wearing a hole in this...antique carpet."

They had all started down to the drawing room, when fate decided it was time that the mysterious disappearance of Laurence Shannon was brought to the majority's attention. Fate had chosen Colin Frisk to do the job. "Hey, have any of you guys seen Shannon?"

"What?" "Who's Shannon?" "Not another girl disappeared!" Came from the party collectively, and Colin almost laughed aloud. Seeing his undeniable amusement in the matter, silence ensued. "No, no! Shannon, Larry. Or whatever his name was. Shannon's his last name."

A few "Oh"s, and "Ah!"s were mumbled among the party, much lessened by the disappearances and the separation of the four upstairs. Not to mention Laurence Shannon, who was still not accounted for. They proceeded to the drawing room, each bringing forth their own suspicions on how the girls(and perhaps old man) had vanished.

"Let's see..." said Albus, "First was Miss Morgan collapsing. Suddenly, and with no apparent reason. Then came Miss Melantha, correct? She had no clear reason either, from what we have gathered."

"This is getting us nowhere," mumbled Colin with a frown. He leaned against the frame of the drawing room window, gazing out into the early morning light.

"Allow me to continue, if you will." Dumbledore insisted, taking off his spectacles and wiping them off slowly on his sleeve. "Then came this morning. The first event of today has been young Miss Pevensie apparently going home."

"Which makes no sense," Raoul added helpfully, "As her young brother is still here."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "She would not have left Edmund here. Susan in young in years, but very close to her brother. Very protective. Whatever drew her away so suddenly must have been vitally important."

The party was silent for a while, possibilities playing in their minds, an endless array of colorful explanations. Meanwhile, the clock on the mantelpiece ticked on. 


	9. Conflict And Petulance

Chapter Eight:

AKA: Erik and Legolas remind me of Sherlock Holmes stories...

Legolas had been pacing in his room in the same fashion as the young Victome de Chagny had been doing moments before, but his thoughts were on a darker scale, as the elf knew a more personal account of the recent events, having joined in a thin alliance with 'Erik'. To keep his mind off of Morgan's closet, and what it beheld, he decided to busy his mind with piecing together the vague clues of the mansion's mysteries. He wondered if there was some sort of enchanter present in the house, or some form of spell which made its occupants mysteriously collapse, then disappear. Legolas had the suspicion that if Lawrence Shannon had collapsed, he would have shrugged it off as a side-effect of old age, or simply refused to look past his pride and tell someone. Therefore, it was very likely that the first side effect had much to do with the disappearances.

But what of Melantha Tolbert? If he had seen the look of fury on the young woman's face as she had spat with Erik, he might have honestly considered she had fought whatever illness that had befallen her and several of the other guests. So he came to the conclusion both were connected. The cause of such an ailment was what truly baffled him. Before Lawrence, he might have said female excitement, or a common female worry about being away from home in such an exciting place, as dangerous as it was quickly becoming. But the old man had never seemed out of that cool, calm, and collected demeanor which had set him apart as leader of the household staff.

The staff...there had to be a connection of some sort with that. He wondered if Colin or Melantha had any idea what had been going on with Lawrence lately. Legolas decided to go down and offer either staff member a visit – when he realized he had not discovered where the staff slept. What a foolish notion; to know where every guest is, but ignore the quarters of the staff itself, which likely knew the most about the mysterious host! The attacks upon Melantha and the disappearance of Lawrence were likely a cover, to lead the guests off his track. M. Nicholas was obviously not as clever as he would seem.

The sound of footsteps outside his door tore him from his thoughts, and he realized he had been staring intently at the window of his room. Each chamber had one – a window with a heavy curtain, wide and tall enough for an average sized man(or elf) to crawl out of with relative ease. Tall enough for a young girl to stand upon the sill and lean out dangerously.

"Monsieur Greenleaf..." came a voice through the door, and he turned. Reaching out for the knob, he hesitated – did he really want to converse with anyone now? "Monsieur Greenleaf, may I...may I come in?"

Legolas opened the door. Knowing Erik, such a gentle request was quite a rarity, and obviously made the occasion on which he came upon the elf's doorway quite impertinent and worth the effort of kindness. "What is it, Erik?" He asked solemnly, stepping aside to allow the lanky, masked individual to enter.

The man looked curiously around the room, his quick-moving eyes resting a moment on the window, as though thinking exactly what had been lingering in Legolas's mind not seconds before. "It was merely that I...well..." Erik met the elf's eyes and seemed to straighten a little bit, retaining his previous formal posture. "I wanted to ask what your theories were, at this point. And since you left rather early, I wanted to ensure that...you knew of what conspired after you walked out. I have a feeling this is a vital piece of the puzzle, and want your thoughts." He met Legolas's eyes evenly, as though daring him to question.

The elf hesitated a moment, trying to figure out if this was Erik's way of checking up on him after the horrific closet episode, but decided to ignore it, in favor of the man's pride. "I have a feeling that M. Nicholas is very well acquainted with each of us. How else would he know how to contact us, and have a reason for it?" Erik merely nodded for him to continue, looking sideways at the window. "Also, it sounds as though Miss Rhea was quite eager to come, and also knew much about me. Therefore, she must know who M. Nicholas is."

"Yes, yes." Erik said impatiently, waving his hand about with an irritated air. "But what else? You've clearly been thinking hard. I could almost smell your thoughts through the crack beneath the door! What else?"

Legolas furrowed a brow at Erik, knowing the man was quite passionate in his endeavors. The elf preferred to think things out, something he held in common with Erik. But the difference was, the masked individual did not seem to want to linger too long, eagerness to discover the identity of M. Nicholas apparently creating an irritation in the troubled mind of Erik.

Sighing profoundly, Legolas recalled his thoughts on the ailment which had befallen the three females and Lawrence, and how he found they were being connected. Erik then detailed precisely what had conspired in Morgan's room, after Legolas had stormed out. The Mirkwood prince raised an amused eyebrow as he was told how the woman had snapped at the former opera ghost.

"I fail to see how this makes her a 'bothersome female', Erik. She was merely trying to care for Morgan." The edges of Legolas's lips upturned slightly, and he could feel a hearty chuckle threatening to escape. Masked man or not, there was a look of fury emanating from Erik.

"You find this amusing?" He questioned through clenched teeth. In his mind, he was trying to plan a way to get revenge on Melantha, for her cheek. Letting out a deep growl, Erik walked briskly over to the window, and opened it with a shark snap, making the glass shiver. He leaned out the window again, and looked up and down, searching for anything unusual, or a means of escape out of it. "Do you know if all the rooms have windows?" He questioned Legolas, who was now grinning broadly. The elf shook his head, and stood up.

While most of the party was downstairs, silently contemplating from what little information they had derived, Erik and Legolas went to each room, picked the locks(for now each of the guests were thoroughly cautious, if not very sharp), and found a similar window in each chamber. The house had been built so that each room had a window in it, facing out toward a different part of the moor. There was no drain pipe close enough to any of them to grip onto, and there was quite a rough drop to the ground. Even if Susan had survived a jump from the window, the broken leg she would have undoubtedly gotten from the landing would not have allowed her to race off quick enough to not be seen, for the moor was very open, and hard to conceal oneself in.

Erik stood back from Edmund's bedroom window, his hands working against each other furiously, as he thought hard. The only room he had not been able to check the window of was Morgan's room, where Melantha still had the child locked up and hidden away, so she could not be questioned.

The pair stepped out into the hallway at a distance from each other, to allow each their space for thinking. Edmund raced up the stairs quite suddenly, and tore into his room, shocking both so that neither thought to reach out and seize the boy. Turning quickly around, they were just in time to see the young boy fly to his bedroom window, and step quickly up onto the sill.

"Edmund! Stop where you are!" Erik's voice shook the very walls of the room, echoing downstairs, where it was heard by the guests's, each looking up curiously, expecting the worst. Erik reached out a hand as the boy jumped in shock, falling outward, and toward the ground below.

The two left in the room flew to the window sill to look out, just as the first of the guest's footsteps were heard thumping up the stairs in rapid succession.

Legolas looked away from the window, a look of confusion on his countenance. "He is gone. There remains no sign of him."

Barbossa slowly stepped forward, and looked out the window. The elf was correct - no sign of a body, nothing. Colin Frisk screamed, and raced down the stairs at top speed. Dumbledore shook his head slowly, with a dark look.

Erik let out a sound of such fury, that each guest quickly left the room, to escape the pitiful and heart-wrenching sound. Each fearful of him, he was soon left alone with only Legolas, who had even stepped away himself. Erik quickly rounded on the elf. "It's not possible! I went last night myself to check. There's nowhere to hide on the grounds, nowhere he could have gone! It makes no sense!"

"I know," said Legolas, but Erik continued.

"Why couldn't the air-headed idiot have at least told us what the hell was going on! I could have at least grabbed him as he went by! He must have known! Why else would he kill himself?"

"Perhaps he didn't..." Legolas said slowly, but Erik continued to fume. Finally leaving the room, and shutting the door quietly behind him, he saw several very concerned faces watching him, waiting for him to speak. He sighed.

"Edmund raced up the stairs past us, and leapt out the window. I know not how, or why, or even where the body is. But I suggest you all go downstairs. Now." 


	10. Prophetic Dreams

Chapter Nine: Prophetic Dreams

AKA: In GGJ5's words, "OMG NUUUUUU!"

That night was the first in which Erik dreamed. He dreamt that he himself was next desiring to escape the mysterious manor – with some strange sudden urgency – by his chamber window.

Standing and looking askance at some unseen danger in his room, he watched his dream-self slowly reach out a pale, skeletal hand, opening the latch. There was a strange shiver as the freezing night wind swept into each corner, toying with any fabrics it could reach and moving locks of hair about the pale face of its owner. Throwing a skeletal man's jacket across the room as he discarded it, he leaned out the window to check one last time for any chance of surviving the fall.

He hesitated, one foot on the windowsill, staring out into the night as the constant wind of the moor playing with his thinned hair. In a moment of submission to the dizziness and elation of the moment, Erik removed the mask, tossing it into a corner without looking to see where it fell. The haunting sight of the dark eye sockets upon the recreation of a human face seemed horror-stricken in expression without the glowing orbs behind them.

A female voice rang out into the night, testing out a word-less song on the listening ears of midnight silence, her contralto adding a mysterious sound to the atmosphere of the room. Erik's golden eyes darted to the door, the darkness of his shadow stretched eerily across the room's floor, attempting to disguise the one hiding within the shadows. The man chuckled, the female voice still trying her song for the largely slumbering audience beyond the walls of the room.

"Be this you're most difficult and strange experiment yet, good sir?" Barbossa chortled, his eyes widening in a mad expression, the movement stretching his scarred face in a ghastly way. Erik said nothing in return, as though frozen by the chilling air swept across his thin frame.

"I suggest," Barbossa continued in his accent, slippery in elongation, relish in his tone, "That you go head first, in my humble expertise. If you go upright, ye'll likely have a moment's agonizin' pain as yer legs break, right afor ye die. Unless, by some terrible misfortune, ye do not die."

Erik began to turn away from the window, to step towards Barbossa, when something gripped his arm from outside. The unseen something held him fast, pulling him outward. Barbossa chuckled throatily from behind Erik as he turned to see the silhouette of a person out his window. Pulling him earnestly with one hand, and beckoning him with the other, he made gentle note that it was as though a light emanated from the figure, casting the face of the queer person in shadow.

Suddenly from behind came a great jolting force, as Barbossa assisted the floating figure in forcing Erik out of the window. Against both their efforts he was fighting a losing battle, despite his abnormal strength, and as he toppled outward, he let loose a great shout. The cry into the night melded into a young boy's scream, accompanied by dark laughter.

Erik sat up in bed, pulled abruptly from his troubled sleep by the distinct falling sensation of his ominous dream. Sliding over to the window, he stared intently out into the night. It had been a long time since he had dreamt anything. A very long time...

Dressing swiftly, Erik left his room and started down the hallway, pausing for a brief moment in front of Barbossa's bedroom door. Listening intently, he heard the telltale sounds of even breathing; Barbossa was very much asleep. Then, Erik found himself racing down the stairs with great urgency; and his eyes searched the dimness for some sign of life. He found it in the form of the thin rays of light, peeking out around the edges of the kitchen door like some passageway to heaven in the darkest part of the world. Erik opened the door and found two men within – Albus Dumbledore and Gimli, who did not give a surname, but merely 'son of Gloin' as attachment to his less formal title.

"Ah, Erik. Do come in. Gimli and I were just having a little bit of something warm to drink. I have found a bit of warm milk is an excellent way to help my dreams along." Dumbledore's blue eyes shone in the light of the candelabra on the worn and chipped wooden table. The kitchen of the manor was much less extravagant, but quaint in its simplest form. With very little decoration, it kept alive the feeling one receives in the cozy firelight of a special room of importance. And indeed, the kitchen of this particular manor played a great role, as not only the collecting place for nourishment, but a meeting place of good worth.

Gimli son of Gloin looked quite different from Albus Dumbledore in several ways. Whereas Albus wore loose, free robes of his own kind most times, Gimli wore a suit that boldly spoke of the pride of his people. Albus had long and flowing hair that seemed to becoming lighter each moment, while Gimli seemed to be in the middle of his existence, with brown hair braided in an intense and intriguing fashion. Erik's own addition to the gathering, wearing his mask and formal black suit, did not create a more uniform atmosphere. Gimli eyed Erik suspiciously as he sat down stiffly, while Dumbledore seemed to gaze at the man with some intense – yet amusing – thoughts. For Erik found the man seemed to constantly have a twinkle in his eye that suggested great humor.

"Would you care for anything, Erik?" Dumbledore's offer was met with a firm shake of the head.

"Do you know about dreams, Monsieur?" Erik inquired quietly, "For I find myself down here because of one."

"I think I much prefer Albus, if you please, Erik." said Dumbledore, who paused before continuing. "I find myself constantly at a loss for my own dreams. But you may often find they mean something very important."

Gimli growled, "Old man, your mind wanders great distances at your age, and it is apparent from your words. Dreams mean nothing to my people – they are merely a passing of drabble, a recollection of nonsense. Why, I have not had a dream since I was but a small lad, so it would seem they are not as pivotal to my existence as you appear to believe!"

Dumbledore was silent for a time with this retort, and seemed deep in thought. When he did speak, his normally slow and calm speech was slowed down ever further, "I would not take such things as dreams so lightly, Gimli. From my own experience --"

"Your own experiences! Why, I know you may think yourself wiser, Albus, but if you think that slippery images that people receive while they are weary with travel and wear [ since weary and wear are related... this is redundant are of importance in this world, then perhaps I shall show you how --"

"Calm yourself, Gimli. I meant no personal offense to you, might I emphasize." Dumbledore seemed strangely calmer as his companion grew more and more frustrated, the dwarven face becoming positively purple with indignation. "I was merely pointing out that, upon further study, a dream can mean many things, speak of what you may even deny of yourself. It is my belief that dreams are a sort of," he paused a moment for thought, "An overlook of your day. Thoughts, feelings, things that you have pushed aside during busy times. Things you would – perhaps – not wish to think of at all. For that is the problem, is it not, Erik?"

Erik did not answer the man for a time. "I am aware that dreams may be thoughts of the day you brush aside. On a deeper level, they are very likely so. However, once a dream descends into the ridiculous, is it not merely a bold declaration of the madness within the being to which the dream has come to?"

Gimli let loose a grumble of irritation, then stood up to search the cellar. Dumbledore gave Erik that piercing gaze once again, nodding his head sagely and answering with pride in his voice, "Perhaps, perhaps. But we are very likely mad, are we not, Erik? Each one of us possesses the ability to do things, terrible things. Actions can be done that will never be erased." There was a moment of silence while each descended into his own thoughts, his own memories. "I would suggest, Erik, that you leave out your rather simple idea that the atrocity of your dream is merely a sign of your madness. For, are any of us without a strange dream? A wishful thought we should not obtain? A longing we should not desire?" Dumbledore stood up, inclining his head to Erik, "Call it madness, call it sanity. But the fact remains that each of us possesses abilities beyond our wildest dreams – however mad we be, the question is just this; what does it take to force us to realize the abilities so many would rather deny even exist?"

Erik met the man's gaze levelly, and they both complimented the words just said. After Gimli's heavy footsteps were heard ascending the cellar steps, Dumbledore inclined his head toward the both of them, bidding them goodnight. Then he left, leaving many ideas and possibilities lingering in the air.

"Crazy old lunatic," grumbled Gimli, setting down a cup full to the brim of his favorite foamy liquid, "Can't he see that his age is catching up with his mind?" He released forth a throaty chuckle as he gazed into his cup, lifting it to his mouth and half-emptying it in one drink. Erik sat very still for a moment, then followed Dumbledore's movements and stood up, opening his mouth to relate to Gimli in a very tactful way that he did not enjoy his company in the least. But his words did not make their way to the dwarven ears before a scream rose in the air. The female voice seemed to be coming from very near, and instead of upstairs, Erik found it was coming from the drawing room. There was a great noise from upstairs, as five pairs of feet hit the floor, and started downstairs. Erik and Gimli pushed back their chairs, creating a grinding sound, then raced out of the kitchen to the room from which someone was screaming.

Melantha Tolbert stood in the center of the drawing room floor wearing her nightdress, holding a hand to her lips. A candle had fallen from her hand onto the carpet, as well as a piece of paper. Lying on the coffee table was the form of Colin Frisk, who had his eyes closed, and a dagger in his chest. Erik quickly stepped toward the body as more people filled the room up swiftly. Raoul de Chagny quickly assessed what had happened, and led the weeping Melantha to a nearby chair, sending a frightened-looking Morgan to find the woman a glass of water.

After a moment of checking vital signs, Erik looked up at the party, now dwindling in numbers, and said, "He is dead."


	11. Pieces To The Puzzle

Chapter Ten: Pieces To The Puzzle

AKA: Oh-Gimli-you-be-PWNED!

Jack Sparrow chose this moment to make one of his grand entrances, stumbling into the drawing room, and looking up at the horrified faces, his expression blank for a moment before gradually moving to confused. He opened his mouth, hesitated a moment, his eyes falling upon the form of Colin Frisk. His eyes widened a considerable amount, his mouth agape in his previous attempt to speak. There was a silence that befell the company, then Jack questioned, "I say, did I miss somefin'...or izzat a dead guy?"

His words were met with mixed reactions: some blankly turned to watch him, as though searching for something to do besides stare as the body became cold and stiff, some gave him an angry stare, some ignored him completely. Among this latter group were Legolas, Erik, and Barbossa. The three of them still keeping their eyes locked upon the corpse on the coffee table, where not long ago had sat a note of importance. A note... As though their minds were connected, all three remembered the paper that was on the ground where Melantha had been standing. The weeping creature was in the corner, tears streaking down her pallid face as she watched the three simultaneously leap for the small bit of paper.

Erik reached it first, since he was kneeling at the side of the body, and he swiftly held it up to read it, his eyes darting over to dare anyone to attempt to snatch it from his iron grasp. His grip was wearing through the paper – his fingers almost as intense on grasping the paper as his mind was on deciphering the untidy scrawl.

_He is starting to understand the clues. Do not let them figure it out._

It was unsigned, barren of any other marking or fold. It was slightly wrinkled, even before Erik had nearly torn it apart in his eagerness to retrieve it before any other guest, it had looked crumpled; as though a hand had squeezed it within its palm.

Erik looked up from the paper, holding it out for Legolas to take, whose elven eyes quickly scanned it. The fair head rose to meet the now unwaivering gaze of everyone in the room. Legolas read the note aloud, and for a brief instance of time, there was no response. The words were played over and over again in each mind, every one of them trying to piece together the meaning even as their mind attempted to numb in the shock of the evening.

The shroud of fear was broken by Melantha's sobs, and Raoul turned to comfort her, "It is alright, Ma'mselle...it was not your fault."

The response was merely another bout of tears. Erik's voice cut through the room as a dagger cuts through flesh: "Stay where you are. No one leaves this room until things are brought to open."

Frozen in midstep, Jack hesitated at the door he had just been trying to exit, his legs shaking with the strain of holding still. Almost collapsing, he turned to reveal a guilty look, despite his mind remaining too foggy to clearly discern the recent happenings. "I say...you can't think I did it? I'll admit to meself, I'm too drunk to aim a gun right."

Gimli whirled on Jack, shouting, "He wasn't _shot_, you blithering idiot!"

Jack blinked a couple times, then looked again at the corpse. "Bloody he-- you're right!"

Gimli rolled his eyes impatiently, then said, "Why waste precious time pining away? It's obvious the lass did it." His gaze fell upon Melantha, who shrank from the mutual stares of the party. In a small voice that shook with sobs, she said, "I-I didn't d-do it...I c-came down to ch-check the...the.." she found herself incapable of continuing, and pointed to the fireplace, where a few embers still burned dimly.

Erik did not move his gaze from Melantha, although the woman's eyes began to shift nervously from figure to figure, as they moved in and out of the light, and into shadow. "I didn't do it," she said again. "I found that note on th e mantelpiece. I didn't see...I didn't see him there. I didn't look on the table, but the white paper caught the light, so I looked closely at it. I was confused by it. Then I turned around, and there he was! I never touched him. Never liked Colin, but I didn't hate him. Not enough to..."

"To kill him?" offered Erik coldly, not blinking.

Dumbledore questioned, "Why don't we start simply? Where was everyone, exactly ten minutes ago?"

"Why ten minutes?" asked Barbossa, earning him a suspicious stare from seven pairs of eyes. "I mean, how do we know how long he's been dead?"

"Because," Erik said with little emotion, "the body is not yet cold. And one who has seen death knows it takes longer than ten minutes for everything in the body to stop working. The blood has not fully seeped from the wound, either. Look here," He pointed at the point just under the hilt of the dagger, where Colin's shirt was a bright crimson color, "There is no clotting. This murder happened nary half an hour ago, at least."

Barbossa fell silent. Dumbledore spoke up, "I was headed up the stairs. I did not enter the drawing room until after Erik and Gimli. I had just finished speaking to them both in the kitchens. I do hope they can both claim this as truth." Gimli nodded brusquely, and Erik did not move his gaze from Melantha.

"We can't tell what you did after the kitchen, though." Gimli said, grumbling. "You left about ten minutes before the screams, I should think." These words were accompanied by a glare from the dwarven figure.

"It could not have been more than five minutes." Erik said, letting out a sigh and leaning back in his chair, finally breaking eye contact with Melantha. "The three of us were in the kitchens. Gimli left for the cellar within that time, and returned before Dumbledore left. Unless I am mistaken, there is no other exit from the cellar besides the kitchen, correct?" He turned to Melantha, who nodded solemnly. Erik moved on to watch the other members of the party.

It was Raoul de Chagny who spoke first. "When I exited my chambers, I passed Mademoiselle Rhea, along with Monsieur Barbossa, and Monsieur Greenleaf. We were all together, and there were no footsteps on the stairs for some time before the screams." Erik looked at each person in turn, and they each confirmed it.

"Dumbledore, had you started up the stairs before Mademoiselle Tolbert screamed?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I had not yet reached the stairs," the elderly man started. "I cannot prove where I was at the time, but I can promise you, it was not me... If that promise means anything in a case such as this."

"It doesn't mean much," Erik stated simply, running a hand through his hair, intaking a breath that displayed his need to maintain control. "Mademoiselle, would you care to tell us what really happened?"

Melantha froze as she was addressed, and opened her mouth to speak, before uttering, "Er...where's Morgan?"

Everyone looked around to the shadows, expecting the quiet girl to speak up and declare her location in the room. But there was no Morgan in the room. Jack blinked a couple of times from the doorway, and said, "Blimey, she didn't pass_ me_. I'd have seen her!"

"And what the devil does that count for?" Erik growled, leaping from his chair and racing from the room. The hallway was empty, but the front door stood ajar, a silvery stream of moonlight dancing across the chilly floorboards. Erik's form slithered soundlessly outside, and he halted on the front steps. Morgan Rhea was gone – and so was Erik's car.

* * *


	12. Accusations

Chapter 11: Accusations

AKA: More Jack Sparrowness! And Erik and Legolas smell something funny...

There was a very long period of time in which Erik stood staring at the spot that his Rolls-Royce had been parked. None of the party – who were gathered about the doorway in one large bunch – could see the fire blazing within his eyes, nor could they see the extremely thin line of his lips, held in a narrow pucker of fury. After a time, he turned and started for the house, a look of super-natural calm on his features. Nevertheless, when Erik sat down once again in one of the sitting-room chairs, his hands gripped the armrest like steel. The slight splintering sounds emitting from his corner as the rest of the party continued the narrowing down of who was where at what time.

"Alright," said Raoul, "So the only people downstairs during this murder were the three in the kitchens, and Melantha herself, right? We can attest to that." Nods were sent around, and he continued, "Have we declared another persona entering the premises impossible?"

"It might have been Morgan Rhea the entire time. She might have used Erik's car before," suggested Gimli.

"But how did she get the keys?" Legolas questioned; to that, the party was silent. It didn't make logical sense to any of them. Out of the entire party, Erik seemed the last person from whom Morgan would be capable of stealing car keys. And yet it had been Erik's car she took...

"Lemme get dis straigh'..." murmured Jack, still slightly tipsy from the dash to the door. In his hand was the calming influence of a bottle of rum, already half-emptied. "Dat girl's been pickpocketin' us all?" His eyebrows did a crazy up-and-down movement as this registered. Jack's hand flew to several important pockets, but all seemed intact. Or, as intact as they can be to a drunken pirate.

"No, I do not think Morgan was capable of stealing..." Dumbledore said gently, "...or murder. She seemed too shocked herself."

"Your opinion of her could very well have been achieved by an easy bout of acting," Erik challenged with a snarl. A slight _snap_ sound emerged from his chair, as a particularly large piece of wood from Erik's chair began giving way.

"Erik." this time it was Legolas who spoke. "Do not do that to your chair. It solves nothing. Let us think awhile." Legolas began to pace as he talked, pointing out a figure as a name was called, and his eyes dancing among the candlelight as though made from a light of their own. "We were all summoned here for a purpose. Purpose which is not known to us, but is clearly of some significance. Our host took great pains to ensure we arrived, but that we did not meet him. Soon after our arrival, the females seemed to be overcome, and were falling prey to these 'fainting' bouts. Then, Lawrence disappeared from sight. How or why, I do not know. But it is notable that Lawrence said something very strange, when he came to bring Erik and me to breakfast. He said, 'I think you'll regret missing this meal', and that it was 'Simply to die for.' Then, he seemed anxious to be off, to leave where he had spoken those words.

"And there was the scent." Erik murmured, willing his hands to loosen their hold on the armrests, to no avail. The six remaining guests looked strangely at Legolas, who nodded.

"Ah, yes. In the place that Lawrence disappeared, there was a strange smell. Much like the ill-fated smoke. Of a fire I will not speak of here, it reminded me." He paused for a long moment, lost in memories. Then after Lawrence disappeared, both the Pevensie children strangely vanished."

"They jumped out windows." reminded Gimli, "You would think that very straight-forward."

"Yes, but how? There was no trace of a body, no physical remainder of them." Legolas said.

"Our only hope was to question Morgan Rhea. She was with Susan Pevensie when she took her lamentable leap," Dumbledore had a solemn look on his face, "It is very likely Edmund jumped only to 'join' his sister."

Erik snarled, "But now we can't do that, because Rhea has decided she no longer wanted to endure the presence of company that is fast lessening in numbers."

Raoul arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. Jack took another swig of rum to calm his nerves after so much thinking(he was trying to follow the conversation, you see), and Gimli looked about to explode in a bout of fury. Barbossa's eyes shifted from figure to figure, until he decided to add, "I think it strange... that Erik was among the first to see Melantha after her collapse in this room..."

"Along with Legolas..." Erik added.

"And that he was among those that 'saw' Lawrence 'disappear'..." Barbossa continued.

"Again, Legolas was with me – I did not murder or cause either of these two to collapse, and he may attest to that."

"And," Barbossa said louder, "He was among the ones who saw the Pevensie boy leap out."

Erik did not add again the fact that he was accompanied by Legolas when the small boy had run past them and out his bedroom window. It was unneeded.

"Then, he came downstairs, just around the time the murder of Colin Frisk happened. That time, he seemed to be alone." Barbossa halted, looking at Erik with a gleam in his eye.

Legolas chose this time to speak up, "I am insulted, Barbossa. You think I would willingly lie to you all about what I saw, or that I would accompany a man who was murdering my companions?" He offered Erik a brief glance, but the latter said nothing. "I assure you, Erik took no part in any of the accidents I witnessed."

"But you weren't there at the murdering bit, where you?" Barbossa released a laugh. "I tell you, I don't know how he does it, but this man here talks about making _walls_ move, and being so _powerful_, and being all _mysterious_. It makes sense that the females are afraid in his very presence, the presence of an ominous shadow. Then, he could have done some conjuring on Lawrence. Both Gimli and Albus were in the kitchen when Erik came downstairs, and he could have raced into the drawing room, stabbed the Frisk, and gone off, casual as can be, into the kitchen."

Everyone was silent, including Erik, though his hands had tensed on his armrest once again. A chunk fell off with an irritating _snap_.


	13. The Macabre Play

**Chapter 12:** The Macabre Play

**AKA: **"Let the bodies hit the floor.. let the bodies hit the floor... let the bodies hit the floor."

Erik couldn't help but admit, Barbossa was making sense with his theories. Not one place could Erik find an error in his plan. The only way he knew it wasn't possible was because he _hadn't done it._ But how to prove his innocence, how to make them see it wasn't himself, while not pointing the finger at another? He realized in that moment that this was precisely what M. Nicholas wanted...to make them argue and blame until the deaths of them all. One by one, he intended to pick them off, always letting the blame rest on one of the party in itself.

Barbossa's eyes filled with fury at no reply. He moved towards the man with the false face and his voice dripped venom. "Ye can't say it warn't ye, can ye? Ye can't outright declare yer soul pure, can ye?"

"No, I cannot." came the simple reply. The two glared daggers at each other until de Chagny's voice came from the other corner of the room, thoughtful and cautious.

"Let us focus, gentlemen. What is the strangest thing about all these occurrences?"

Twelve eyes blinked hard. Raoul stepped forward to the center of the room, his hands gesturing in a practiced manner as he explained, "The absence of _bodies_. Up until just now, with Monsieur Frisk, there have been no bodies whatsoever. Shannon, disappeared. The Pevensies leapt out windows, but no trace of them found. That's three bodies we haven't discovered. Then there is Rhea, who we know escaped by Erik's car. Now, we have Frisk left."

At once all eyes turned to the chilling corpse of Colin Frisk. "There must be some sort of clue about his death, gentlemen. Of all the strange things, I think the strangest is that there is no ambivalence on his murder. We know he was stabbed, we have the murder weapon, we have the time frame he was murdered in, and we have his body. The only thing we do not know is who murdered him. Perhaps this is supposed to lead us to our next clue." Raoul looked around as he finished his speech, as Legolas and Dumbledore shared appreciative nods to this suggestion.

"That's going around in circles." Erik said in a voice tense as a wire twisted round and round itself, "Now we're just repeating the events of the last few hours over and over. We don't know the murderer. That would be a genuinely helpful piece of knowledge."

"And I say we _know_ the murderer." Barbossa growled, still glaring at Erik without lowering the intensity of his gaze. Erik met the challenge with a coolness that began to worry those who knew him a little better.

But there was no chance of further retort. A small, unnoticed _click_ sound nearby was soon followed by an ear-piercing blast of a rifle, and Erik's eyes widened in surprise. Ears rang as Hector Barbossa fell onto his knees in front of Erik's chair, his hands frantically opening the front of his shirt, searching...he found the blood pouring out between his fingertips before long. He raised his eyes to Erik, a childlike wonder in his eyes. The mouth was agape, revealing rotted teeth and amazement in one gesture. Barbossa's blurring eyes turned to the wall just behind Erik's chair.

"It came from the wall..." he breathed, then collapsed. No one moved for a long moment, stunned.

"Two bodies. Three disappearances." Dumbledore said with a sigh, moving forward. Erik halted him with an upheld hand.

"Don't. Move." he ordered. Dumbledore's eyes held no friendly twinkle as they searched the wall behind the torn and crumbling chair. Moments later, Gimli spoke up, with a growl.

"We can't just sit here while he gets away!" Gimli raced to the wall with surprising speed for a dwarf and lifted his axe. It did not take him long to tear through the outer wall, then reaching the wood beneath.

"Gimli, stop it!" Erik shouted, shoving his chair aside and standing behind the dwarf, "It'll be the death of you!"

"I'm not going to sit as we all die one by one!" The axe-wielder didn't hesitate as he dug deeper and deeper. No one could get near him without the fear of getting the business end of the dwarf's weapon in his skull. Before long, all of the party were watching with fearful eyes as Gimli uncovered a small hole in the wall at head-height, about the width of a quarter and normally hidden in the shadow of Erik's high-backed chair. "We're getting to it!" Gimli shouted with glee, proud of the progress made as he began widening the opening. His arms would not tire in the least from the labor, despite his deepening age. The dwarves of the mountains did not squabble at such petty work. Debris piled around his feet, accumulating with each well-aimed blow. No one breathed as the air in the small room filled with dust, clouds rising to enshroud the workman.

He was concerned in the removal of a particularly thick beam at the left side of the hole. The small room he had uncovered behind the drawing room left the guests in amazement, so they did not watch the beams above his head. There was no warning for the dwarf as he was suddenly thrown to the ground beneath the weight of the tumbling beams and wood and plaster. A crash, and the floor began to break away beneath him, and he fell through. Legolas leapt forward.

"_Gimli!_"

An uneven hole in the floor had splintered away, leaving a gap about eight feet across and five feet side to side. Beneath them was shadow. Before them, across the hole, was an iron-cased door, peering through the thickening clouds of dust and grime. Dumbledore came to Legolas' side at the edge of the hole, pointed downward, and muttered a word that cast the darkness below in an eerie pale light. The hole was surprisingly deep. Normally, one would expect a slight drop beneath the floorboards of such an ordinary looking house, but here the party looked down at nearly a twenty-foot distance to the stone support below. At the bottom was the rubble of Gimli's last work, the axe held in his hand gleaming in the solemn light.


End file.
